


Request - Poker Face

by mintedmango



Series: Requests [1]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Heist, Mafia AU, Other, mafia, monsta x - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintedmango/pseuds/mintedmango
Summary: Requested by @foxybread! For a request could you write a MonstaX heist fic? reader x your choice! The Play it Cool music video aesthetics keep giving me Ocean’s 11 vibes





	Request - Poker Face

Seven. Seven. Seven.

 

Go one number down repeatedly and that’s where you really should be tonight - in hell where you were definitely going after this - or climb two more numbers and sit comfortably on cloud nine.

 

That’s what you were going to do with this money. The money these seven handsome men dressed in black were boasting with their glittering rings and watches fitted to their slender wrists. The money that they had gained through blood and trickery. The money they claimed they had through several lucrative businesses they own. The money that was built doing nothing for others, only through personal gain.

 

And you knew that you were about to have it all when the short one at the front caught sight of you positioned at the poker table, slit in your red dress running up your thigh, as you patiently sip your decorated martini.

 

They’ve swindled and snaked their way through the streets far too long, ruining lives all for their personal gain and you’ve had enough. It didn’t hurt that your boss was the very powerful Mr. Min, hiring you to act as the superhero in this comic book villain life they were living.

 

Anticipation was always high in the room clouded with smoke hanging low to touch the tops of the perfectly quaffed hair in the room, but, you swear you can smell it rolling off of you in waves. Sure, these men were probably hound dogs in the figurative sense, but you swear if they can smell more than your Chanel perfume was going to get sick all over the multi-colored chips on the table.

 

“Hey, beautiful.” The surprisingly sweet, melody of a voice rings out, sitting down beside you at the round table, throwing a few large bills at the dealer who collects them with a shocked expression at the sudden cash-in for the game. “What’s a pretty bird like you doing all alone in a place like this?” He slides a warm palm over your exposed leg and you try not to gag on your drink.

 

You want to (desperately) roll your eyes and look away from him, but instead, you curl your lips up into a coy smile. Your eyes sweep over this sharp looking man, cut from the threads of the finest mafia men in town. You place a chip from your poor, dwindling pile onto the green felt table in front of you, next to his stack. You watch as his eyes soften, looking up and down like you were sizzling meat on a stick before him, his demeanor completely becoming putty in your red-taloned hands.

 

“Yes, a catch like you?” His brother in crime with snow-white hair sits next to you, a fox-like smile gracing his glossy lips. “I would think someone would want to gobble you up in no time?”

 

You slide your black coated lashes to flutter to the side where the new man sat, batting your eyes at him in a sly, seductive saying, “Down boys. Heel.”

 

They inhale at the same time, your senses on high alert.

 

The machines clang with loud computerized noises off in the distance, the ice clinks in the glasses of the men, and the chips keep flowing, but, never to you, only to the men next to you. Not a problem you think as you watch the man to your right named Kihyun fold his cards, shooting Minhyuk to your left a glance knowing he’s got all the cards he needs to win the game.

 

You swear you hear the gulp of the other thugs at the other end of the table, folding their lackluster hands in toe as to not upset the two you were sandwiched between at the end of the table. You bat your rich lashes, sighing in defeat, playing the simple little actress the best you ever have.

 

It’s between you and the white-haired devil Minhyuk from the seven deadly mafia brothers of death called unironically the ‘Heros’. The thousands and thousands on the table in front of you was intimidating, but, you couldn’t let it intimidate you. You were so close to pulling this off, literally pulling your hat trick at the poker table as you look over the line of your cards with an exaggerated worried brow. 

 

He grins, eyes lit with wild passion behind them, the taste of the cards being submitted to him, the smell of the weaseled cash from everyone seated at the felt table. He sends you a wink as he brandishes his cards open to the dealer. Everyone ogles and ahh’s at his spread, earning a shit-eating grin to reveal a gold tooth in the side of the white-haired man’s mouth.

 

The win.

 

“Flush.” He growls, getting as close as he could without you withdrawing from his alcohol on his breath. You try not to gag.

 

You click your tongue on your teeth. “Gosh, what a pity.”

 

“That’s okay baby, we can share some of this wealth, for a fee of course.” He sneers, implying something dirty and foul for this potential green.

 

“No,” you crack your coy persona finally, throwing your royal flush over his for the table to hold their breath over what would happen next. You signal the dealer to cash you out, letting you up from this nail-biting poker tournament. You miss the jaws that hit the floor as you take your leave, red dress hugging your body as you go to exit the shady casino building. “I don’t believe I’ll be sharing anything with anyone this evening.”


End file.
